Light Worth Protecting
by Oni-Gil
Summary: Humanized AU. After so many vorns, they all had their scars, visible or not.
1. Scars

**Scars**

**Universe: Human!AU**

**Rating: T** (mentions of violence… duh… both implied and vaguely explicitish M/M… people being depressed…)

**A/N:** As mentioned above, this is a human!AU... ahahahaha.

Oh, and, er, if you see any "she"s where there should be "he"s... yeah. Watch out for the genderbending. XD

* * *

They all had their scars, Ratchet mused as he worked on Bumblebee's wound. The blond was being remarkably patient, aside from tapping his foot restlessly. At least the anesthetic had done its work; Ratchet had seen Bee's young face twisted in pain far too often.

"Do you think it's gonna leave a mark?" Bee asked, craning his neck to see. "So I can look big and tough like 'Hide?" Ratchet gave him a gentle clout on the head.

"Don't move," he said grumpily. "I just finished stitching it shut. Do you want to open it up again?"

Bee drummed his heels. "It felt deep enough," he continued. "Barricade was too close to use his weapons, so I thought I was safe… I didn't think he'd have a knife. It slid right out of his gauntlet. Hey, Ratchet, can I have one of those?"

"I want you to concentrate on keeping _away_ from the Decepticons. You shouldn't be close enough to need a blade."

"But… but Jazz has one! And Optimus! And you, too!"

"No. Stick with your guns… it's safer."

Bee was blessedly silent for a moment as Ratchet began to bandage his injury. Then he shifted. "So… is it gonna leave a scar?"

Ratchet sighed, looking down at his own hands, which were criss-crossed with thin white lines from years of handling razor-sharp surgical blades. Each mark told of pain and screaming, blood and worse things, brave Autobots dying despite everything the medic did. Bumblebee was young, free of scars, free of pain.

"I hope not."

* * *

The steady stream of quiet cursing woke Frenzy. He yawned and poked his head out from his dark nest of blankets, blinking blue eyes in the daylight before sliding his red visor into place. With the painful light dimmed, he could see his partner sitting on the floor, trying to tie a bandage with his teeth.

"B-Barricade?" he asked, deliberately slowing his speech to avoid stuttering too much. "Need-d help?"

"No," the scout snarled, glaring at the offending strip of linen. "It's not your shift yet. Go to sleep."

Frenzy slipped silently out of the bunk and made his way to where Barricade wrestled with the medical supplies. It was unsurprising that he was doing this himself; none of the others were trustworthy enough to play medic. As the bandage slipped from the scout's hands again, Frenzy caught it. Barricade's eyes flashed, but he huffed and looked resolutely away. In a few quick, careful movements, Frenzy had taken care of the first wound and moved on. The silence was maintained. The spy was uncomfortably aware of the tension in Barricade's lean frame and kept his touches light and impersonal… one wrong move and Barricade could beat him into a pulp.

Being injured was a compromising position for any Decepticon to find himself in. There was a tenuous network of distrust, of usefulness and expendability, of position and power, that they were all woven into, a dangerous and at times deadly game in which a player's main asset was intimidation. The one whom the others feared tending to stay alive the longest. Allowing the invincible exterior to drop by seeking medical aid was a sign of weakness. Thus, Deceptions tended to be their own medics.

Frenzy was unsure of where he stood with Barricade. They were partners and therefore closer to each other than most of their kind ever got, but they were still Decepticons. Barricade's tension was proof enough of that. Still, that he was even allowing Frenzy to treat his injuries was a sign of trust. And Frenzy could admit to himself that he would lay his life in Barricade's capable hands if need be.

His fingers brushed an old scar and Barricade gave a warning growl. Frenzy ducked his head sheepishly, tying off the bandage on the last of the wounds. He glanced up at his partner's face and saw a bleeding gash just under his right eye.

"He g-got your f-face," he muttered, leaning up. Barricade drew back, but not fast enough to stop Frenzy from licking the blood away. The spy found himself on his back within moments, looking up at a very angry Decepticon. He only smirked, running his tongue nervously over his lips, feeling Barricade's hands tighten on his thin arms.

Trusting Barricade and being trusted in return was worth a few scars.

* * *

"That's nothing," Bonecrusher snorted, baring his biceps to show off a mottled burn. "Now _this _is impressive."

"Oh yeah?" Brawl answered, pulling up his shirt to proudly display his own burn scar on his chest. "Beat that one!"

* * *

"'Hide, tell me a story," Jazz urged, stretching out on her couch like a cat.

"'Bout what?" Ironhide answered, in the middle of meticulously polishing his arm cannons.

"Anything. I'm bored," the SIC replied. "Nothing to do around here today."

Ironhide eyed her thoughtfully, gaze straying. Although Jazz was like a little sister to him, he could still appreciate her smooth, dark skin and sumptuous curves. "What makes you think I know any stories?"

"Those," Jazz said, drawing a finger across the bridge of her nose and diagonally across her lips, matching the pattern of scars on Ironhide's face. "A story for every one, if you care to remember. For example." She tilted her head back, showing the thin white line slashing across her throat. "Starscream, six vorns back. Almost had me that time, but you know me… harder to kill than the Vassian plague."

Ironhide chuckled. "Yeah, I've got some. Dozens of them. But these, these are special." He rubbed the old scars on his face, smile fading somewhat. "Megatron. Fifteen vorns ago."

Jazz sat up, intrigued. "The start of the war?"

"The very beginning," Ironhide murmured. "I was younger then."

"What happened?"

Ironhide gazed at the wall without seeing it. The memory was as fresh in his wind as though it had happened yesterday… he could still smell the smoke, still hear the screams…

"I had to get Optimus out of the capitol." Her hand had been tight in his. She, too, had been younger then. Innocent. Terrified. "He tried to stop us." He'd felt Optimus falter, seen the tears, heard the tremble in her voice. He'd watched her heart break, unable to do anything to prevent it. "I held him off while she got away. Almost took my eyes… almost took everything, come to think of it." Even now, after fifteen vorns to get used to seeing him on the other side of the battle, Ironhide was still conscious of the bitter taste of betrayal. "But I got out of there alive." He remembered crawling through the wreckage, keeping under the smoke, blood pouring from his injuries. He'd made it nearly out of the city when he passed out. That was where she'd found him again, Ratchet at her side, and together they'd carried him away from there.

"Wow," Jazz said, eyes wide. "You survived Megatron… Primus, 'Hide, there aren't many who can say that. Two? Three?"

"I had to," Ironhide murmured. "I had to get out of there." I had to protect her when he failed. She's worth protecting… the only light left in this world.

* * *

It was one of those rare times where Skorponok felt content. He curled closer to his mother, hand resting on the long scar on her belly, the only flaw in her otherwise perfect ivory skin. He had long since forgotten the guilt he had initially felt when he learned that he had indirectly caused it, for the medics had cut him from her womb before his time. But he had survived, and he had grown strong, and he pleased his mother and his master. Some called him demon… he cared not, for killing brought affection and praise. Each scar he brought home was tended to lovingly by his mother's graceful fingers. Each Autobot reported dead earned rewards.

Of a father, Blackout never spoke. It was enough that Skorponok performed his duties flawlessly.

* * *

Slender fingers toyed with the catches of his armor, crimson eyes gleamed playfully but also slyly, a razor-sharp smirk parted to whisper into his ear. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

Megatron knew how to play this game and play it well. His opponent was just as skilled, so they kept their eyes on each other, smiling in anything but friendliness. Starscream's fingers skittered over his skin, likely looking for the best place to put a knife. In retaliation, Megatron ran warm fingertips over the knotted scar on his second's side, a subtle reminder. Many of the marks decorating Starscream's pale skin had been dealt by Megatron himself rather than the Autobots. He navigated by touch alone, not daring to take his eyes off of Starscream's for an instant, hands crawling up the smaller man's back to press at the horrific scarring on his shoulderblades, evidence of an experiment gone horribly wrong.

Starscream had come away mutilated; Shockwave hadn't come away at all.

At the touch Starscream's hands tightened, nails digging into Megatron's flesh, over scars he himself had left there. Megatron only smiled, enjoying it as his second threw his head back, teeth gritted to restrain a cry of pain. He leaned closer to murmur into Starscream's ear.

"The Autobot who marks your face will pay dearly indeed."

Starscream sneered. "Since that's the only part of me that you haven't marred."

"Hush."

"Make me," Starscream hissed, and Megatron did.

It was a strange relationship they shared, the epitome of the interplay between all Decepticons. In this game, the stakes were high—one slip meant death. But they both knew how to play.

* * *

The strange question caught Optimus off guard. Did he really see her as so pure, so untouched by pain and war? She blinked at Bee for a moment, then looked away, thinking of a touch that might once have been caring, a smile that might once have been loving; then of a heart blackened and twisted with hate, a gaze dark with madness, before answering.

"There are some scars that can't be seen."

* * *

**A/N:** More, Y/Y? Hahaha...

"How come the Decepticons only have one girl and the Autobots have two?"

Um... well... Starscream is close enough? XD


	2. Debts

**A/N: **Okay, so this is no longer a oneshot. Hahahahaha. Just a warning to you all... these scenes will skip about chronologically, but you should be able to arrange them mentally into some semblance of order. I'm experimenting with a new style in this story... my hope is that the readers will be able to put together the story and the characters from these little vignettes. I have confidence in you, dear readers!

Enjoy!

* * *

**Debts**

**

* * *

  
**

Smoke filled Ratchet's lungs and he coughed, still turning over rubble. Heavy Decepticon fire had utterly demolished this temporary base, trapping several Autobots in the wreckage. Ratchet had to move quickly to find them before the enemy arrived to finish off any survivors. So far, his search had been unsuccessful. He glanced around, checking for Decepticons before he dared to raise his voice in a shout. "Optimus! Jazz! Can you hear me?"

He continued to call out periodically as he searched. Time was of the essence… the swiftest Decepticon runners would be on him in a matter of minutes.

Ratchet froze, straining his ears. He had heard… yes, there is was again! A weak answering cry to his right.

"Over here!"

Something flashed and he scrambled towards it. He found a gap in a heap of rubble through which light shone.

"Prime? Is that you?"

Her face appeared in the hole, bloodied and dirt-stained. "Ratchet! We're all down here. Can you dig this away?"

Ratchet heaved and dug at the timbers and stone. His efforts paid off; he made a hole large enough for a person. One by one they climbed or were helped out, all the worse for wear. Ratchet sent them off in twos and threes—a large group risked attracting the 'cons' attention. Optimus insisted on being the last out, making sure that each and every Autobot got away before reaching out for aid. Ratchet lifted her from the hole and she stumbled. He caught her easily—she was a slim thing, easy to hold.

"You're injured," he observed with a scowl.

"It's not bad," she answered. "Just my ankle. Don't worry about it yet, Ratchet."

She took a step and collapsed, grey-faced. He knelt beside her and immediately saw the damage… it was far more than "just my ankle." He saw white bone ripping through her skin.

"You can't walk on this," he muttered, fishing for a bandage. There was no time to do any more than wrap it, wincing at each of her bitten-back groans. "Take it easy, Prime… I've got you. Hold onto me, now, like that."

He supported her to her feet—well, one of her feet and two of his—and turned… only to find himself facing a painfully familiar purple crest on the chestplate of a man with painfully familiar red eyes, and one of twin swords leveled at his throat.

"Starscream," Optimus gasped.

_Ratchet didn't know how the young man—just a kid, really, he couldn't be out of the Academy yet—had dragged himself this far. A thick trail of blood led back to the center of the destroyed lab. There was more blood on the boy, all over, filling Ratchet's eyes with red as strong as that of the victim's eyes. The medic's gaze was drawn to the twisted metallic… things trailing from his shoulders, the source of the pressing flow of blood._

_Ratchet knelt in front of him in an instant. The boy's trembling hand reached up pitifully and Ratchet took it in one of his own, squeezing reassuringly._

_"It's all right, I'm here. Breathe. Hold on, I'm going to help you… stay with me!"_

_The boy's crimson eyes were wide with terror and pain. He held onto Ratchet's hand in a vise-like grip. "Help me," he gasped, blood on his tongue and lips. "Please, help me!"_

Starscream's eyes were narrowed, his thin lips curved in a frown. He was silent, which confused Ratchet—normally the Decepticon second would be gloating about his victory by now. Instead he stood, frowning, something close to… indecision?... in his eyes.

Then, unexpectedly, Starscream lowered his weapon, looking resolutely away from the helpless Autobots.

"My debt is paid," he snarled, hatred in every syllable, each word forcing its way between his teeth. "Go."

"What?" Optimus began, but Ratchet, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, shoot his head violently to stop her and they hobbled away.

Optimus's silence demanded answered. The medic sighed once they were in the cover of the hills.

"A life for a life." It sounded strange even to his ears, so after a hesitation, he added, "It was a long time ago."

Optimus nodded and asked no questions.

* * *

_He woke up groggy, feeling nothing but a dull ache in his shoulders. The medic was already there, peering into his face with concern._

_"Where…?"_

_"In my medbay," the medic answered. "You're going to be all right. I promise."_

_He drifted back into unconsciousness wondering if it was the truth._

_

* * *

  
_

Megatron had two kinds of anger. One was the kind that involved swift and violent retribution. The other was a silent promise of terrible pain to come, steaming just under the surface. Starscream knew both well… he preferred the former.

However, it was the second that flickered in Megatron's blood-red eyes when his second reported back alone.

"Where is she?" The question was not loud, but everyone heard it. Starscream didn't flinch, nor did he waste his breath on excuses.

"The Autobots escaped, my lord."

Megatron's face darkened as he stood. "Your incompetence never ceases to astound me, Starscream!"

Before his lieutenant could reply, a high-pitched giggle made them both glance at Frenzy. The spy leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, a smirk splitting his face.

"Esc-caped, St-Starscream?" he chuckled. "Like the P-Pit they d-did. I saw the wh-whole th-thing. You l-let them g-g-go."

"He lies, Lord Megatron!" Starscream retorted immediately, turning an acid glare on Frenzy. "Why would I let Prime slip through my grasp?"

The Decepticon leader looked from one to the other, frown deepening. "It's your word against Frenzy's. No one else witnessed this?" His piercing gaze passed across the others in the room. Nobody spoke. Megatron turned back to his second. "Then I will overlook that accusation. However…"

He moved almost too quickly for the eye to track, pinning Starscream to the wall by a hand at his throat. He moved close to hiss at the other Decepticon. "The Autobots still escaped. If you fail me again, Starscream, I will make you beg for death. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, my liege," Starscream choked. Megatron ground him once more against the wall, making him squirm and grit his teeth at the pain in his back, before letting go and stalking back to his throne.

Starscream rubbed his neck as he glared at his commander. It wasn't _his_ fault. If he'd had his way, the Autobot medic would be bleeding out, lying among the ruins somewhere, and Prime would already be subjected to Megatron's tender hospitality. Being a Decepticon, and a notoriously untrustworthy one at that, didn't mean he was without all honor (except where Megatron was concerned, but in Starscream's eyes the Lord High Protector had sacrificed that right when he turned on the entire planet). He still maintained some sense of fair play, twisted though it may be at times. It was better to have repaid the Autobot now and endure a relatively easy punishment rather than find himself in a moral dilemma on the battlefield where the decision could mean life or death for him. He had let them escape this time… next time, he would not hesitate, not even for Prime's pretty eyes, not even out of some misguided sense of _owing_ to the Autobot Ratchet.

Yes… all memory of his weakness must be wiped out. He clenched his fingers into fist, wishing they held his swords. Yes. He would kill the Autobot medic and utterly destroy Prime. He would take Megatron by surprise one dark night and be rid of him once and for all, and then he would lead the Decepticons to their glorious future…

But first, to take care of Frenzy…

* * *

**A/N: **Starscream's revenge will be swift and terrible, I assure you. Pity we don't get to see it. Haha!


	3. Ironhide

**Ironhide**

* * *

There was devotion, and there was loyalty, and there was duty, and there was love. For Ironhide, Protector, Captain of the Prime's Guard, there were all of these.

He was a young man when he became a Protector, fresh out of the Academy. There he'd been at the top of his class, marked by his instructors as officer material. He had his moment of glory when he bowed and then looked up into the eyes of the Lord High Protector and saw his future already being mapped out there.

He remembered pulling the armor on for the first time, Protector's silver armor, learning to run, fight, roll, contort in all directions, turning it into an asset rather than a cumbersome load. He learned from the best, devoting himself to fighting and to commanding with equal passion. He was on first-name basis with everyone in his unit, with his superiors, even with Lord Megatron himself. He knew how to lead; he knew how to talk to his men and learn their strengths and weaknesses. They were comfortable with him, comfortable enough to share their barracks chatter with him, talking about food and women and the kid who'd been put in the Elite, the youngest ever, and what Minister had been in a scandal, or whose kid was turning ten.

"You'll be in the Elite for sure," they told him. "Lord Protector likes you… you're the best commander we've got… you'll be in the Elite soon and then you'll never have time for us."

The Protector's Elite. How he longed to join their small numbers: hand-picked by Megatron, the best of the best, the strongest, the fastest, the cleverest. Under the command of Megatron and only Megatron. The ones called in when all seemed lost, who could turn the tide of the battle within cycles; the ones everyone knew, even without the brilliant red shirts under their armor, because they were heroes to the Protectors. Each face was known to every Protector, each name, each individual, personalized weapon. Ironhide was ready. He was worthy to be one of the Elite. It was only a matter of time.

He remembered the day that Sentinel Prime was assassinated; the day he'd received his new command. Megatron had not started the conversation in the way that Ironhide had expected.

"Do you think this tragedy could have been averted?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"The Prime's Guard should have been more watchful. Whatever they were doing, it wasn't good enough."

"I count you among my best men, Ironhide. I know it is a burden, but you are the best suited to bear it: I've chosen you to command the Prime's Guard."

The Prime's Guard. Equal to the Elite, under command of the Prime, sworn to protect the ruler of Cybertron at all costs. They didn't associate often with their fellow Protectors, staying by the Prime's side. Their Captain had the power to override even the Lord Protector's orders, if necessary.

"The… the Guard, sir?"

"It's a tremendous power. You answer to the Prime alone."

"I'd rather answer to you, Lord Megatron."

Lord Megatron, Lord High Protector, greatest of the warriors of Cybertron, object of Ironhide's loyalty.

"I'm touched. But you are the best man for the job. You can handle the responsibility. You have your pick of Protectors for the Guard, outside of my Elite. I know one or two I might recommend."

He remembered meeting the new Prime for the first time. She'd thrown him off balance at once with that smile and those blue eyes. Optimus Prime was chosen by the Matrix three orns after Sentinel Prime's assassination. Ironhide didn't meet her until an orbit after she was chosen. He was interrupted by a soft, polite "Excuse me?"

Optimus Prime was a young woman, small, pretty. She didn't look like much… her hand was dwarfed by his when she reached out to shake it… but after only a few minutes of conversation, it was clear that she was something special. She was open, compassionate, personable, a façade of softness and weakness over a solid core of strength. She asked to be introduced to each member of the Guard individually and spent several minutes with each, getting to know them in a way that Ironhide recognized as how he'd known his unit, before returning to Ironhide.

"I'd like to learn to fight," she said.

Caught off-guard again. Ironhide found he liked her. "What?"

"I'd like to learn to defend myself. I can't help but feel that if Sentinel Prime had…" She trailed off.

"I will… _we_ will do all that we can to protect you," Ironhide answered. "What happened to Sentinel was a tragedy, but it won't happen to you. I promise."

She smiled at him. His stomach flip-flopped oddly. "I trust you. But I want to help make your job easier. Anything that you can teach me would be appreciated."

Ironhide goggled at her (but tried not to be too obvious about it). He couldn't help but smile back. "As you wish, milady."

She was his duty, the object of his loyalty now, and he was devoted to her. When he fought, he fought for her. When he smiled, he thought of her; when she smiled, he hoped she thought of him.


	4. Something Wicked

**Something Wicked**

* * *

Sentinel Prime was nothing if not canny. He knew how to read people… he saw the look in a man's eyes and predicted his intentions. This ability was a blessing in the tangled, complex world of Cybertronian politics.

The Lord High Protector Megatron was nothing if not secretive. He had the ability to guard his thoughts, to mask his feelings under a carefully constructed and maintained persona. Therefore, he was one of the few men that Prime could _not_ read. But Prime had no reason to doubt his younger counterpart. Megatron was one of the greatest Protectors the world had ever seen, loved by all of his Protectors and admired by the people.

And yet…

In recent days, a nagging suspicion had grown in the back corner of Prime's mind. Something had changed, something wasn't right. In the privacy and silence of his own rooms, he sat pondering, recalling all of the insignificant-seeming, individual incidents—so innocent when taken one by one, but all together spelling out something far more insidious.

"Is something the matter, sir?"

Sentinel jerked out of his thoughts at the inquiry, looking up at a steaming mug, then further up to the one who offered it. Ah, Fastback. Could Prime entrust his suspicions to a Protector? But the members of the Prime's Guard were beholden to the Prime first and foremost, even over Megatron. They were trained to protect and obey Sentinel at any cost. Fastback was a favorite of Sentinel's: good, honest, faithful, always on hand with a hot drink or a good book, a constant presence outside the Prime's bedchamber every night along with his friend Bumper. Yes… he could trust Fastback with anything.

"Have you noticed anything… strange about Lord Megatron lately?" he asked.

Fastback frowned. "Megatron? I wouldn't know, sir… I spend more time with you than with him. Why do you ask?"

Prime took the mug and sipped absently. "He's been doing favors, shaking hands… he's up to something, and I wish I knew what."

"He does have a way of making allies out of the right people," Fastback agreed. "But how is it any different now?"

"It doesn't feel right. Lord Megatron has never shown himself to be untrustworthy… but…" Sentinel sighed and shook his head. "I'm a paranoid old fool."

"Your feelings have rarely led us wrong, sir," his bodyguard answered. "There've been rumors going around among the Protectors… like he's getting ready for something. Something big."

"What more do you know of this?"

Fastback shrugged apologetically. "Only the Elite know much about Megatron, and they don't mingle with the Guard. But you know that whatever happens, sir, the Guard is behind you. We're sworn to protect you, no matter what."

Sentinel smiled. "Thank you, Fastback." He rubbed a hand across his eyes before glancing at the clock. "It's too late to think of these things. I'll retire now."

"Bumper and I are just outside if you need anything, sir." Fastback bowed himself out and Sentinel sighed, frowning into space.

_It may be too late to do anything at all._

* * *

Despite what he told Fastback, Sentinel Prime remained awake at his desk, staring into his mug, lost in thought as the night deepened. The lights of the city glowed on, but few people were out and about. Axulus was a pale sliver on the horizon; Ruxus shone full and clear overhead, washing the scene in soft red. Prime darkened his lights to enjoy the moonlight and to lead Bumper and Fastback to believe that he was asleep. He mused long into the night.

A commotion just outside broke into his thoughts. Prime knew the sounds of a fight when he heard one—a fight with weapons, not fists or voices—and he knew the proper actions to take. The Prime's quarters were connected to a network of hidden passages throughout the capitol, passages Sentinel had memorized. Before he'd gotten two steps towards the hidden entrance, however, something heavy hit the door with enough force to open it. Sentinel looked to see what is was and his breath caught in his throat as he saw Fastback's eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling. Before he could move, the attacker was on him. Pain blossomed under his ribs and he gasped, hand clutching weakly at the assassin. An unfamiliar voice hissed jubilantly in his ear.

"All hail Megatron!"

* * *

Ruxus's light was reflected in the Lord High Protector's eyes as he looked up at it, gauging the time from the red moon's position in the sky. To an onlooker, had anyone else been there to see, the tension in Megatron's body might have been attributed to a long, difficult day. One ungloved finger tapped impatiently on the railing. His eyes flickered restlessly back and forth, darting from the sky to the city. He waited.

The barest footstep ended his wait. Without turning around, he asked, "Is it done?"

"It's done," Starscream answered, pausing in his approach. Megatron finally faced him, pleased.

"Were there any witnesses?"

"None who lived."

"And the weapon?"

"Suitably disposed of."

Megatron took a moment to look his agent over. He had taken the time to clean himself and put on fresh clothes. Good… it would not do to have one of the Elite spotted with blood on his hands tonight.

Starscream hesitated. "Lord Megatron… why do we wait? Why not strike now, now that the Prime is dead?"

"We aren't ready," Megatron answered. "We aren't as strong as we should be."

"Then why…"

"Sentinel was becoming suspicious, and he was strong. The new Prime will be weak, uncertain. We will grow stronger." Megatron's smile was anything but friendly. "Soon, Starscream. Have patience… we _will_ make our move. Soon."


	5. Disarmed

**A/N: WARNING!!!!!!! THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SEMI-GRAPHIC M/M STUFF. IF THAT'S NOT YOUR THING, MAYBE YOU WANT TO SIT THIS ONE OUT, YEAH?**

But if that IS your thing, read on and enjoy!

* * *

**5. Disarmed**

**

* * *

  
**

It was a complicated dance, one that required the utmost care and grace. Megatron had it down to an art, and he could think of no finer partner than his treacherous, beautiful second.

Said second waited for his command as far away as he could physically get while remaining in the same room, annoyance blatant and unguarded on his face. But naturally Megatron sometimes required assistance in the removal of his armor. And naturally, given Starscream's inherent desire to dispose of his commander, Megatron would wish to make sure that he was completely unarmed before doing so. And naturally the only way to make absolutely sure that he carried no weapon was to see him bare of any garments at all.

"Well?" Megatron said, relaxing into his throne. Ah, leadership was a trying task… but it had its rewards. Starscream's glare was delicious. Not taking his eyes from Megatron's, he unfastened his own armor, setting it on the floor beside him, then unslung his twin blades from his back and laid them lovingly atop his armor. Thus reduced, he straightened.

"Satisfied?" he asked, unable and uncaring to keep the bite from his tone. Megatron only smirked. Huffing, Starscream pulled off his gloves and kicked free of his boots, which held no concealed weapon this time, to Megatron's surprise. Well, Starscream rarely used the same hiding place twice. He was bound to run out soon.

The lieutenant pulled off his shirt, still glaring daggers at Megatron. He dropped it on the growing pile. "Satisfied?!"

Megatron's smirk widened, showing teeth.

"You can't be serious," Starscream snapped. Megatron didn't answer… his second didn't need one. It was always the same ritual; he really should be used to it by now. Besides, it took Starscream down a few pegs and they both knew it.

Starscream heaved an aggravated, long-suffering sigh and stripped off the rest of his garments, including, to Megatron's amused delight, a flat dagger strapped to his thigh. The Decepticon commander took a moment to enjoy the view before Starscream stalked forward and gracefully settled on the throne as well, knees on either side of Megatron's hips.

"Satisfied?" he ground through gritted teeth. Megatron chuckled, running his hands up Starscream's sides.

"Oh, not nearly."

He pressed his mouth to the side of Starscream's neck, gloved fingers whispering over his second's bare skin. Starscream growled at him, fingers slipping as they worked the catches of Megatron's armor. The larger man laughed quietly, putting a hand to the small of Starscream's back to pull him even closer. "I didn't say that you could begin," he purred.

It was entertaining to see that Starscream still felt indignation and humiliation at this, evidenced by an angry flush on his otherwise pale cheeks: to be naked and defenseless while Megatron was still clothed, armored, and armed. Starscream looked so much smaller like this… Megatron rather liked it.

"Then hurry up and say it," Starscream hissed.

"Eager, are we?" Megatron answered, thoroughly enjoying his armful of nude, furious Starscream.

"I want to get this over with."

Megatron chuckled and nodded his assent. Starscream's bad temper was slowly receding, enough for his glare to gradually change to something a bit more subtle, smug and sharp, as he disposed of his commander's armor piece by piece.

"I know where all of my knives are," the Decepticon leader reminded him, resting a hand on the back of Starscream's neck. Rather than an affectionate or protective gesture, it was a tangible warning to his disarmed but still dangerous second.

"Fine," Starscream murmured, touch hasty as he unfastened Megatron's cannon and set it aside.

"Speaking of which, the one on your leg was a nice touch," Megatron added, stroking the indicated area. The redhead sneered at him, only halfway distracted by dealing with the older man's upper garments, ending with his gloves. Megatron took full advantage of his freed fingers by exploring every inch of Starscream's skin, enjoying the contrast of smooth and rough, lingering where his second gasped. In revenge, Starscream accelerated his efforts, at his most tantalizing, squirming against him with his agile hands getting everywhere.

Megatron pressed his fingers to Starscream's lips. His second pulled away with a disgusted look, and Megatron shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said blandly, the picture of unconcern, and began to lower his hand.

"No, wait!" Starscream stumbled, seizing Megatron's hand and taking the fingers into his mouth for a thorough wetting. Megatron laughed quietly; Starscream glared and bit him. Not missing a beat, Megatron jerked his fingers free and backhanded his second hard across the face with a curse. The next moment, he leaned forward to nuzzle the cheek he had struck. He always tried not to mark Starscream's face, but sometimes his fiery lieutenant required punishment for some wrongdoing or another. Yet it was so enjoyable to cause him pain.

"Why do you make me hurt you?" he murmured, brushing his lips across Starscream's cheek, his tone of mock regret.

"You disgust me," his second-in-command hissed, his fingers digging into Megatron's shoulders as he was penetrated.

"It wasn't always so," Megatron answered, petting red hair with his free hand. "You've changed, my Starscream. Whatever happened to my loyal subordinate?"

"Whatever it was, I'm sure it was your fault… ah!"

Starscream's knees tightened on Megatron's sides before he relaxed, baring his teeth contemptuously. Whatever he felt, he gave no sign of it. He took the unspoken cue and began to move, simultaneously achieving as much and as little physical contact as possible.

"Maybe so," Megatron replied with a smirk. Starscream gave little resistance as Megatron pulled him closer, murmuring into his ear. "I made you what you are… I'd think you'd want to _thank_ me rather than kill me."

"Clearly, you have a poor estimation of me," Starscream replied in a harsh whisper, raking his nails across his commander's back. It would leave marks… but no one, especially not Starscream, would see Megatron's unprotected back. "You would do the same in my position."

"My Starscream…" He knew how much Starscream hated that possessive pair. "I've made you too much like me."

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**A/N:** Hmm, what could have happened...? Perhaps we'll find out in a later chapter...


	6. Forbidden Fruit

**A/N: **This chapter is also rated a definite **M**, for one pretty graphic sentence down near the end, but the rest of it is also rather dark and creepy and I blame getting one hour of sleep out of the past 36 hours.

Anyway. Enjoy, and I'll go sleep, and maybe write something a bit more cheerful next time...

...but you guys probably saw this coming.

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**Forbidden Fruit**

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Every day, Optimus thought that it had been long enough, that the wounds had finally healed, that she could finally move on and end this war decisively, with no more feelings of guilt or regret. Every day, she hoped that she had finally abandoned those last stubborn pangs of sorrow.

And then there would be a battle, another clash sure to leave many casualties; she would see him again, and all her illusions of detachment would shatter. Every time she saw him, she couldn't help but remember how it had been before… how she'd felt about him. How she _still _felt about him.

She twisted one glowing blade in a now thoroughly dispatched Decepticon soldier – at times it horrified her how easy killing had become, but never during the battle when a distraction could prove fatal – and saw him nearby, mowing through her Autobots with the deadly grace that she couldn't help but guiltily admire even as fury bubbled up within her at his actions.

"Megatron!" she called, her voice raised to nearly a bellow in order to be heard over the sounds of battle. She braced her foot against the dead soldier and tugged her sword out, leveling the blade at her meters-distant foe. "This ends now!"

He paused, the area around him cleared, and shooed Brawl away before turning to face her with a smile that, even here and now, made her insides twist and curl in girlish giddiness.

And then Megatron laughed at her. He threw his head back and indulged whatever sudden surge of merriment had seized him, letting his guard drop completely, and Optimus could do nothing but stand and watch him, seething silently until he wound down.

"Optimus Prime," he answered smoothly, quieter than she had been but still loud enough for her to hear him quite clearly. He shifted a leg back and bowed courteously, mockingly, never taking his piercing crimson eyes from hers. "As charming as ever."

"We can't all be groomed as nobility from birth," she retorted, advancing cautiously. He had lowered his weapons, but she knew that he could have them up again at a moment's notice.

"Yes, please pardon me. I forgot that some of us hail from the vile breeding pit of the docks."

"Insulting my background may be unwise, Megatron," she warned him, controlling her anger and letting it flow instead to her hands, which tightened on her swords.

"Forgive me, my lady." He half-bowed again, his smile slow and sinister. "I'm sorry that all of this fighting has made me lose my manners."

"Save them for Primus's court. You'll need them."

He matched her approach boldly, seemingly careless of her dangerous weapons, and his eyes narrowed slyly. "Going to send me to him so soon, Optimus? Are you sure you have the nerve?"

"Nerve enough to rid this world of the threat you pose to it." Prime was glad that her voice carried more conviction than she actually felt, but Megatron seemed to see right through it. His measured predator's steps brought him within range, but she didn't strike.

"You can't kill me, Optimus," he murmured softly, and as he drew in close enough to reach out and touch, the swords fell from her numb fingers, clattering on the ground where they fell. She looked up at him, helpless and bewildered and lost and frightened, but paralyzed like a bird trapped in a serpent's hypnotic stare. His surprisingly warm fingers touched her pale cheek.

"We don't have to fight," he whispered. She tried to suppress a shiver and failed, drowning in the silky smoothness of his voice, the sweet promise of his touch. "We can live and rule side by side as we are meant to… as we once did. Come with me."

He kissed her, drawing her, unresisting, into his arms; although some part of Optimus told her how wrong this was, the rest of her responded, eagerly even, and she melted into it, surrendering utterly to his hold, his touch.

"Megatron," she sighed in a barely-audible puff of air, like a secret prayer to a dark and forbidden god, before they came together again. She responded to his passion with her own, tasting, savoring, submitting, losing herself in his taste, his scent, his touch…

A faint shout had the effect of a bucket of ice-cold water. Optimus jerked back, heat rising to her face, as she realized that a familiar voice was calling her name, her soldiers searching for her. The hint of a sneer pulled at Megatron's mouth.

"Your loyal tin kettle is looking for you."

_Ironhide_, Optimus realized, now recognizing his voice. Megatron was already retreating, drawing rapidly away.

"If you should want to end this war, Optimus, remember that I am always willing to accept your surrender," he called back to her, then was gone.

"Optimus!" Ironhide came running up, gentle hands coming up to her arms. "Are you all right?"  
"I… yes," she lied. He hadn't seen her weakness, her betrayal. "Just shaken, that's all."

"The Decepticons are falling back to their base, probably to lick their wounds."

"Then we should fall back as well. We've stalled their advance; that was our purpose. There's no sense in wasting lives trying to reach them behind their armature."

Ironhide hesitated. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Optimus might have given a thousand excuses. In the end, she used none, but stepped forward to rest her head on his shoulder. Ironhide's strong arms wrapped around her in a comforting embrace and she hid her face safely in his chest.

It shouldn't be this way. The man she loved was gone… or, rather, he had never existed. It had always been a façade to manipulate her… and how superbly it worked, even now: when Optimus couldn't stop thinking of him, day or night; when she woke with his name on her lips. There had been other touches, other poisonous kisses, and worse; there had been the time that she had contacted him for no other reason than to see him, and he had laughed and laughed and finally had said something in a tone just biting enough that she'd had the strength to pull away; there had been the battle where she'd fallen into his arms and their panted breath had mingled in the privacy of a half-demolished corridor, his fingers questing down and finding her already wet and dripping, slipping inside and working her until she writhed on his hand, moaning and gasping and shuddering as she climaxed hard… or had that been only a dream?

Every day, Optimus thought that this would pass, that this was a mere infatuation or, at worst, a severe and entirely inappropriate physical attraction that would fade away at any time.

Every day, Optimus was forced to admit that this was so much more than sheer physical desire; that she loved him, incurably so; and that if there was even the slightest chance that he might find goodness and light, Megatron was right: she could not kill him.


End file.
